A Downton Christmas Carol
by fitzybeag
Summary: Dickens' famous tale Downton style! Robert Crawley is a stingy earl living alone in Downton Abbey. One Christmas Eve he is visited by three spirits who urge him to change his ways...Chapter 3 is up!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The snow fell on the great estate like sleepy white feathers, invading the silent countryside in a carpet of cotton. Servants secretly ceased their duties and took a few moments to stand by the window, taking in the spectacle. There was truly nothing like a white Christmas Eve.

Robert Crawley, Lord of Grantham, did not seem to notice any of this, however. He sat in the library at his desk, completing a letter to the Ambassador of France. In the doorway stood his valet, Mr John Bates, who despite his hardiness, could not help but shake violently with the cold.

"What on Earth's the matter with you, man?" demanded Robert, peering over his reading glasses.

"Nothing, my lord. I just had a slight chill." Bates knew better than to complain to his stingy employer about the temperature of the place. At this stage in winter, the dining hall suited an Eskimo more than an Englishman. It was no wonder guests no longer came to stay.

It wasn't as if the Earl was stuck for cash, either – some suspected he had millions in the bank. He simply didn't like to share.

"Mr Bates, if you wish to spend the winter sweating like a pig in a pair of swimming trunks, then I suggest you seek employment elsewhere."

"Of course, my lord." Bates didn't choose to mention the fact that Robert was currently wearing two large padded coats.

The butler, Mr Carson, appeared beside the shivering valet in the doorway. "You have a visitor, my lord - your cousin, Mister Matthew Crawley."

Robert leaned back in his chair, bringing his tired hands to his face in exasperation. "Send him in, I suppose."

His energetic younger cousin sprung into the room, a Christmas wreath in his arms and a smile stretched from ear to ear. "Merry Christmas, Cousin Robert!"

Robert waved a hand at him dismissively as he looked back down at his papers. "Bah! Humbug!"

Matthew didn't let his older cousin's comment extinguish his joy. "Don't be such so gloomy!" he exclaimed merrily. "Where's your Christmas spirit?"

"I'll be as gloomy as I like, thank you very much! Besides – what reason do you have to be merry? You're poor enough."

"What reason do you have to be cranky? You're rich enough! And there's more to life than wealth, cousin. Christmas should be a time of charity, of love, of forgiveness!"

Robert continued to write, hoping that ignoring the problem would make it disappear. He wasn't that lucky.

Matthew plopped downed into the chair across from Robert, giving him no choice but to engage in some sort of conversation.

"I was hoping you could make it to our annual Christmas party? I know it didn't suit you last year, or the year before that, but it would mean a lot to me, Robert, it truly would."

It took him less than a breath to summon up a response. "I'm awfully busy, I'm afraid. You'd be surprised to know that the whole world doesn't come to a standstill on the 25th of December."

They sat in silence for a few moments, Matthew looking down at the wreath in hands. At last he stood up and sighed. "Maybe next year, then?"

Robert grumbled something and reordered his pages.

"Here, Carson," said Matthew, handing the holly wreath to the nearby butler.

"Thank you, Mister Crawley. This will have pride of place on the front door –"

"– And whose front door would that be, Carson?" interrupted Robert, raising one eyebrow, "Not mine, I do hope?"

Mister Carson blushed slightly, attempting to keep collected and tall. For a man who sat around all day, the Earl truly possessed great powers of intimidation.

"Apologizes, my lord. I'll find somewhere more…suitable. Mister Crawley, do you require the chauffer?"

Matthew winked to the butler and fully threw a scarf around his neck. "That won't be necessary, thank you – there's nothing like a walk in the snow on Christmas Eve. Goodbye Robert! God bless!"

With that he stepped out into the snowy blizzard, singing Christmas carols away to himself.

Once again the great house was left in stormy silence and Robert got back to his work.

Not long after, however, Carson appeared in the doorway again. "More visitors, my lord."

"Yet another reason to hate this wretched holiday – all these unwarranted visitors! Bring them in."

Two portly gentlemen strode into the library, books and papers in their hands. Both had removed their hats.

"Have I pleasure of addressing Lord Grantham or Mister Patrick Crawley? I believe they are both in residence here?" The taller of the two spoke with a cheerful, upbeat tone.

"Patrick Crawley was my nephew. He has been dead for ten years." He said the words without a hint of remorse.

"Lord Grantham, then. Sir, did you know that there are millions of men, women and children who are starving tonight, in Britain alone?"

Robert fought the urge to slam his forehead down onto the table. "Are there no prisons in this country?"

"There are, sir."

"Thank God for that."

"With the greatest of respect, Lord Grantham, Christmas can be an extremely hard time for the poor and lonely. That's why a few of us have volunteered our time to fundraise for this great cause. Even simple things like meat and drink, and some sort of warmth can go a long way."

Robert sat up in his chair, blatantly ignoring the pair. "Bates, who on Earth let these maniacs past the front gate?"

The chubbier gentleman appeared oblivious to Robert's words. "How much shall we put you down for?" His companion opened up the heavy accounts book, and wrote the date on a fresh page.

"Nothing."

"You wish to remain anonymous?"

Robert turned to his valet with a look of distaste. "This is exactly what I was saying, Bates. All this Yuletide fuss severely reduces brain size."

Bates took that as his cue to firmly escort the two do-gooders off the premises.

oOoOo

Darkness fell fast over the estate, illuminating the fresh fallen, virgin snow.

Bates was busy laying out Lord Grantham's night clothes, eager to finish up his duties early.

"Somewhere you have to be?" prodded Robert, noticing the valet's unusually rushed behavior.

"No, m'lord. Apologies."

"And I suppose you'll be wanting the day off tomorrow."

"If that's convenient, my lord."

"It's far from convenient, but I don't have much choice, do I? This day truly is a nuisance."

"It is just once a year, my lord."

Robert tutted, shaking his head. "That's a poor excuse to pick an old man's pocket every 25th of December! Anyway, make sure you're here an hour early the day after. And stay an hour later too."

Upon being dismissed, Bates all but sprinted to his little cottage just outside Downton village. The family would be delighted to find him home early for once.

Robert, meanwhile, dined alone with a sensible meal and a glass of red wine, topped off with a sliver of cake to mark the sorry occasion. He read in the library for an hour or two and then headed up to bed with heavy eyelids. It was these tired eyes that he would later blame for tricking his imagination.

Up the grand staircase and down a long, red-carpeted corridor, Robert at last reached his bedroom. He reached forward for the door knob, but stopped suddenly in shock as he felt the freezing air radiating from it.

"What the –"

He held his candle up for a closer inspection, and almost dropped it in fright. Before his eyes, he watched the very ordinary handle transform and morph into a long, thin, gaping face. The figure looked in pain, as though it were screaming its last breath. Robert had to put a hand to his mouth to keep from crying out and alerting a nearby servant. He turned and looked down the corridor, half suspecting someone had played a trick on him. But who would? The servants were too frightened of him and it wasn't as though he had any actual friends.

Once he had calmed himself and willed the blood to run back to his face, the haunted door knob had returned to its ordinary state. Just a plain, brass door knob.

Climbing into his bed clothes and under the starched sheets, he managed to put the whole experience down to exhaustion. Of course it was. But he knew that face from somewhere…

Robert heard the sound as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. At first he thought it was the wind outside, moaning low and constant. But it grew in volume and weight, until the sound of dragging heavy chains could be plainly heard outside in the corridor. Robert refused to believe in ghosts, but found himself locking the bedroom door nonetheless. It grew closer.

He cowered in his bed, the blankets pulled up to his chin like a useless shield. In the darkness he waited.

The noise ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and he dared to pop his head out around the bed covers.

Without warning, the great oak door was blasted off its hinges, and trails and trails of rusty, heavy chain flew into the room. Piles formed around his bed and they continued to load in until he feared he would be suffocated among them.

"ROBERT!"

He looked up to see a semitransparent, deathly figure come roaring through the archway where his door once stood. The spirit flew through the room until it grinded to a stop, its disfigured nose inches from Roberts'. The chains finally ceased.

"Robert…" it breathed again, quieter this time but by no means less spookily. "Robert…do you know who I am?"

The trembling Earl shook his head defiantly. _No_. He refused to believe this figure was the man he resembled. A man who once slept just down the hall.

"Don't lie to me, Robert…" the apparition grinned menacingly, as though he could read the living man's thoughts. To emphasize his point, he sent bone-harrowing screams down Robert's spine.

"Patrick Crawley!" Robert panted holding his head in both hands, "Mercy, I beg of you!"

"I've come to bid you a warning Robert…"

"A warning? What of?"

"Of the way you live your life, foolish mortal! When I was a living man, when I was your heir and dearest friend, we made others' lives a hell on Earth. In death I've been cursed to carry these chains to repent for my sins!"

Robert looked around at the seemingly never-ending chain. It snaked in and around every corner, tangling Robert's possessions in a metallic web. Glass was smashed, and he noticed some of his prized snuff boxes scattered carelessly around the room.

"They why come to me, demon? Why torture me?"

"You must heed my advice and change your ways! Tonight you will be visited by three spirits, each carrying their own message. That is the only way to shed your chains, Robert, the only way…"

The spirit slowly vapourised away, taking its chains with it.

"Patrick! Wait!"

Once again, Robert was alone, left cowering on the bed. He found that despite his situation, he found himself slowly sinking down into the covers, and consciousness fizzled away like a fleeting ghost.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Robert didn't remember waking up, but the next thing he knew he was staring into the warm eyes of a fiery, glowing, childlike spirit. It resembled a young girl in a white nightdress, with long blond hair and no shoes. She seemed so petite that the slightest breath of wind could overthrow her.

Robert took a deep breath. "You must be the first spirit."

Her voice was soft and gentle. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"Past?"

"Yes. Your past."

Without another word, the spirit reached out and joined hands with a reluctant Robert. She led him to the wide open window, the curtains flapping so lightly in the gentle night air. Snowflakes fell silently in onto the window sill.

It soon became very apparent what was expected of him. "Ghost, I cannot fly! I'm just a man!"

"Then you have little faith in mankind. Men have accomplished far greater things than flying," murmured the placid phantom. With that, they rose together and shot right out the bedroom window. The estate grounds and the surrounding fields passed beneath them in a blur. Freezing snowflakes blasted into Robert's mouth and against his face, giving him no choice but to close and protect his fearful eyes. He had to be dreaming.

When at last they seemed to slow, and the blasting became tolerable, he awoke into a word very different to the one he stood in moments ago.

"Spirit, why have you brought me here?"

They stood outside what seemed to be an abandoned school in the countryside. There were no children running about, or class bells tolling. It was almost eerie.

"This is your old school. Come inside, there's someone we should see."

Wave after wave of nostalgia rushed over Robert as he treaded the familiar floorboards. It had been nearly 50 years.

Inside a dark, dreary classroom sat a young boy with his back away from them.

"Is this boy trespassing? Hello? Boy!" shouted Robert, trying to catch the solitary child's attention.

"He can't hear you," the youthful ghost said softly. "We are invisible to the people in the past."

Robert rushed to the end of the classroom, eager to see more of this mysterious child. He stood just a foot in front of the reading child, and gaped at what he discovered.

"It's me! It's me as a boy!"

The spirit nodded, pleased with Roberts self-discovery. "Yes – this is Master Robert Crawley, aged 12 and a half."

Robert leaned in close to the boy, peering at his youthful face. He had changed drastically over the years, but the eyes remained the same.

When he spoke Robert's voice was somewhat apprehensive, as though he feared the ghost's answer. "Why is he all alone here?"

"You were often here alone during the holidays. Your family were far to busy to bring you home to Downton for Christmas."

"But…" Robert seemed almost childlike, "But I was their eldest! I was just a boy!"

The young Robert, oblivious to the figures standing just in front of him, turned the page of his novel.

Suddenly, causing all three of them to turn around, the door swung open and in tottered a beautiful woman, clad elegantly.

Both young and old Robert said the word at the same time. "Mother!"

The boy ran forwards and embraced his mother, before he remembered himself and stood back politely. The Dowager Countess, who was always one for airs and graces, seemed to forget herself too, and pulled her beloved child back into her arms.

"Mother, I missed you so much," young Robert whispered, tears threatening in the corners of his eyes.

"You and I both, Robert," she said warmly, rubbing his back. She suddenly straightened up, fearful a random passerby might witness her unladylike display of emotions. "Now hurry along and get your things. Then we can get out of this ghastly place."

Older Robert, with tear filled eyes, noticed the scene suddenly start to fizzle out. The specter reached his hand and led him on through the darkness.

oOoOo

At the end of the tunnel of blackness, they found themselves in a strange climate – humid for nighttime, yet still a sharp crispness in the air. Robert had experienced such a climate only once before.

"The Boer War? You must be joking!"

The childlike spirit ignored his comment and continued on, where the lights of a camp could be seen ahead.

Robert remembered the particular Christmas he was reliving. They had spent the day drinking and smoking, and had a game of football around the camp. The next day they would be back fighting again.

He and the Ghost of Christmas Past made their way towards a small campfire, where a group of soldiers sat together, some having a smoke to pass the time. Robert as a younger man sat in their midst.

"I'd love to be tucking into a nice Christmas dinner tonight," noted a clean shaven officer to his left.

That was met by large approval and hearty laughs.

An older man across the fire grinned. "Our cook used to make enough turkey and ham for a kingdom."

"Well, there's no such thing as too much turkey and ham."

A short, young looking man spoke up for the first time. "Thinking of home…it makes you think, doesn't it?"

The others just stared, waiting for him to continue.

"You know, about this war. We're doing the right thing aren't we? The reason we're out here is for our loved ones at home."

A big, burly man clapped him on the back. "Too right, son! We're doing this for England!"

Older Robert moved closer as he noticed his younger counterpart begin to speak.

"I'm sorry, but has no one else thought of the expenses? I heard that this bloody war will have cost Britain hundreds of millions of pounds!"

His comrades stared at him blankly for a few moments, and then continued talking among themselves.

Older Robert found himself looking down at his feet, mumbling awkwardly to himself. "I suppose I never was one of the popular ones…"

"Perhaps always a little too interested in finances," suggested the spirit.

Robert shook his head, brow furrowed. "Bah! Money makes this world spin!"

Without warning, the Earth really did start to spin, and he found himself being pulled into a tornado and whisked through the sky.

oOoOo

They plunked down into a new world, this one more familiar than the ones before. Looking around from the armchair he had landed in, Robert recognized his drawing room. The curtains were drawn open, which was a rarity these days.

A slightly younger Robert sat at his desk, writing a letter, as usual. It was a cold Christmas, but not a white one.

Robert's wife Cora appeared in the doorway, and the older Robert almost doubled over in shock.

"You find it surprising to find your wife in her own home?" asked the ghost.

"Ex-wife," corrected Robert, "And yes, I do. I had almost…almost forgotten all about her."

"Robert," said Cora, attempting to draw his attention away from the desk for more than a second.

"Hmm?" he grunted.

"Robert, its Christmas! You've been in here all day!"

He still didn't look up. Perhaps if he had, he would have noticed she was wearing her traveling cloak.

"Can we discuss this over dinner, Cora? I'm very busy."

"What happened to you, Robert? What happened to that boy I knew?"

"I don't know, ask Carson."

"Listen to me Robert!"

"Cora, as I've said –"

"– Yes, I know you're busy! Too busy to notice my existence, let alone the girls! Too busy to spend Christmas with your family! Yet somehow, you have enough time to dally with a housemaid!"

This time Robert did look up, and he saw everything. He saw the pain on her face, the years of frustration etched into her skin. He saw the dulled eyes, which had been disappointed too many times. Then he saw the cloak.

"Cora…what are you –"

"– I'm leaving, Robert. And I'm taking the girls with me. Take your money, take your maid, have it all! Because you never were one for sharing were you?"

He watched from the front door as she and the three little girls loaded into the car. With one small wave from his youngest and a slamming door, they were removed from his life forever.

With that he turned back inside and continued to write his letter.

The older Robert stood, letting tears fall freely. "Remove me from this place, spirit. I can't bare it."

"As you wish."

Robert landed with a thump on his bed. The room was still a mess, but he was home, and that's all he cared about. Lying back, he let sleep wash him away.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Robert was awoken to the sound of splashing. Stepping out of bed, he found the carpet drenched with water, and a steady stream of bath water flowing from under the en suite door.

Cautiously, he poked his head around the door and almost dropped dead in fright.

A huge, burly man with a great red beard lay sprawled in the bath, splattering about with the bubbles. He was so large his bare legs extended out of the bath. Apart from the beard and the Christmas wreath upon his head, he looked extraordinarily like Carson the butler.

"Excuse me?" said Robert, his voice feeble in the presence of such a giant. "You wouldn't happen to be one of the ghosts, would you?"

Looking at Robert for the first time, the spirit let out a wholehearted guffaw. "Indeed, I am the Ghost of Christmas Present."

He carefully climbed out of the bath and threw on an oversized green robe with white fur lining.

"What can the present teach me?"

"All in due course, my man! Now hurry on and touch my robe."

Robert, slightly reluctant at the ghost's strange request, eventually did as he was told.

Suddenly, the bathroom disappeared, and in the blink of an eye, Robert found himself in the middle of the road. The night was cool and still.

"Welcome to Downton village!" boomed the giant.

They stood up to their ankles in snow outside a narrow street of rundown homes. Windows were smashed and walls were crumbling, and there was a sense of hardship in the area.

"I thought you said this was Downton, spirit?"

The great ghost chuckled. "It is. Just not a part you'd be familiar with." With that he ducked down low and entered a small cottage to their left. Robert followed suit.

Inside, the temperature didn't increase much, but the warm smell of a roast dinner wafted throughout the kitchen. A pretty young woman slaved in front of the stove, assisted by her eldest daughter. Two twin boys played with little tin soldiers under the table, and the eldest son was busy tending to the fire.

"What's taking your father, Gwen?" muttered the mother, addressing her eldest daughter. "William, will you be a darling and see if they're coming down the road?"

Before William could stand up from the fire, the front door swung open and in staggered Bates, with little Daisy on his shoulders.

Mrs Bates face flushed with relief as she embraced her husband and youngest child.

Robert's expression was one of shock. "Bates? My valet? Lives here?"

"I thought you had caught your deaths out there in the cold!" exclaimed Mrs Bates, returning to the stove.

"Don't worry, Anna – I don't think a corpse could have caught his death wearing one of your knitted scarves!" laughed Bates, stealing a kiss.

William took Daisy up in his arms and swung her through the air playfully. Gwen propped a little wooden stool for her sister next to Bates at the head of the table.

"Tell me, spirit," murmured Robert, gazing at the weak girl, "Is the child dying?"

"Daisy is sickly. If my visions are correct, this should be her last Christmas." The spirit's voice was uncharacteristically solemn.

The rest of the Bate children sat around the table, buzzing with excitement for their long awaited meal. Anna stepped forward with a measly goose, but by the family's reaction you could have sworn it was a rich, plump turkey.

"Anna, the Lord has never seen a finer goose!" remarked Bates, standing up to admire the bird from a height. Grace was said and Bates pulled up his scruffy sleeves, setting to work carving the goose. The meal was wolfed down, and the twin boys cried out that they had never eaten so much in all their lives.

At last, they moved their chairs around the hearth and chatted fondly as the fire crackled fiercely in the background.

Bates raised his glass and cleared his throat. "A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears!"

That was met by a few whoops and smiles.

Daisy stood up feebly, "God bless us, every one."

Bates brought his daughter into a tight embrace, which brought a tear to the eye of everyone in the room – including Robert and the hefty ghost. He held onto her as though it would be his last time, rocking her gently in his arms.

When Bates regained his composure, he straightened up once more. "And may God bless Lord Grantham, the Founder of the Feast."

Anna tutted. "Don't make me laugh! If that man was here now I'd give him a piece of mind, I would."

"Darling, its Christmas."

"Don't you make excuses for him, Bates! You know the stingy man better than anyone."

Robert couldn't help but notice that the mention of his name had cast a drab shadow over the celebrations.

The spirit turned to Robert, and adjusted his wreath. "Come, there is more to see. Touch my robe."

With that Robert found himself teleported to another unfamiliar scene. A crowd of friends sang merrily around a piano in someone's living room, laughing and drinking as they did so. It was only after looking around that he discovered it to be Crawley House, and Cousin Matthew's wife Lavinia playing the piano. They applauded heartily as the song finished up, and retired to the couches.

"Tell me, Matthew," said a young gentleman, in between gulps of mulled wine, "Where is your old cousin Lord Grantham?"

"He couldn't make it, I'm afraid. As per usual."

"He's a funny sort of a fellow, isn't he?" noted a pretty brunette. "Likes to keep to himself."

Matthew stood up from the couch with a good natured grin. "I admit, Cousin Robert is many things, but I won't have a bad thing said about him, no matter how much he deserves it!"

"I feel sorry for him – all alone on Christmas," sighed Lavinia, genuinely concerned.

"Company is not something I can see Cousin Robert longing for. How about another tune, my dear?"

Soon they were all gathered around the piano again, the sing-song in full swing. Although he stood in the background, Robert felt more alive than he had in years. It had been a long time since he attended anyone's party.

"We must carry on," ordered the spirit, turning to leave.

"Must we leave? I love this tune, and everyone's so happy," groaned Robert. Turning around, he noticed the spirit had aged massively since he laid eyes on him last. His once red beard was now nearly completely grey, and the wreath on top of his head was turning brown and rotten before his eyes.

"I'm pleased to find you joyful, man, but time is not in our favour." Robert reluctantly grabbed hold of the robe, and shut his eyes tight as they shot out of the room.

oOoOo

Robert stood with the aging giant in his bedroom. The spirit was becoming thinner and feebler, and needed Robert's support to stand.

"What's happening to you, ghost?"

"My end is coming near, I'm afraid."

"Your end? You mean, you live for just a day?"

"My time on this earth is short."

With that, the clock chimed twelve and the spirit vanished.

Robert looked around the frantically. "Spirit?"

He turned to look behind him, but what he found was a sharp contrast to the boisterous, gentle giant.

Robert stood face-to-face with a bloodcurdling figure in a dark hood, slowly extending a boney claw out towards him…


End file.
